To the Theatre: Three times and then Not
by xPhineasx
Summary: The Three Times Crowley and Aziraphale go to the Theatre, and the one time they stay home instead. Rome. London. New York. Home. A/C Fluffy


_Three times Crowley took Aziraphale to the theatre, and one time they stayed home instead._

A/C

Rating: PG

Word count: 3369

Fluffy, silly, and just my way of playing around with historical settings. Enjoy.

X x x

**1. Rome 220 BCE **

_There was no Arrangement yet. It was too early in the course of the world for that. Western Civilization was being built in marble and flung across the map of the world by the great republic of Rome._

Aziraphale loved Rome. A city of intellectuals, he thought proudly. All heathens of course, but they had terrific wine in those amphoras and the most wonderful scrolls. And togas. Oh Togas! They were so breezy and comfortable, and Aziraphale thought they made him look quite impressive.

220 BC Rome was the place to be. Aziraphale got to spend his days admiring the buildings, drinking the wine, and gifting philosophers with divine bouts of inspiration. Oh, he missed Athens and the Greeks, who were far more willing to broker peace than the Romans, but the march of history could not be stopped. Rome was the place to be now.

The Romans built beautiful things. Though he would always hold a special place in his heart for the Parthenon, Aziraphale had to admit that standing in the Temple of Jove, overlooking the seven hills of Rome, with all the temples and aqueducts and theatres was a breath taking sight. (Aziraphale was particularly proud of how enthusiastically the Romans had taken to his aqueduct idea. He didn't understand why they insisted on using lead pipes, but then he had his suspicions that a certain demon may have been involved with that bit of meddling.)

It was a Tuesday, and Aziraphale was in the one of Rome's many temples. (And goodness, they did have a lot of temples, didn't they? Industrious people, the Romans.) He was taking a break from his angelic duties to do a little reading about all the interesting Gods the Romans had stolen from the Greeks. They had made some interesting modifications to the pantheon. Goodness, that Jove did like his ladies.

It was all blasphemy, of course. They were way off base with most of this stuff, but it was still _interesting_. Nothing wrong with being interested, right? (Besides there was still a few centuries until _HIS_ son was due to arrive, so the heathens would all be redeemed then anyway. No harm, no foul.)

"Ah, there you are, Angel," there was a hissing drawl from behind him, shaking Aziraphale out of his studious stupor. "Catching up on your reading?"

Aziraphale turned to face Crowley. Last time Aziraphale had seen the demon was in Athens years ago. He had worn a pitch black toga back then, his hair slicked back, in rather fancy looking sandals. The effect was...rather silly actually. Crowley didn't strike Aziraphale as a sandals person. Crowley, personally, had disliked the entire ensemble. The angel was right about him hating sandals. They gave him blisters on his feet, and he felt the toga was definitely not a good look for him. (He was still reeling with embarrassment when he tripped on the hem of the bloody thing and fell on his face in front of Pythagoras.)

The new outfit Crowley had adopted for Rome was much, much better. Roman Centurion armor was flashy and flattering. All the gleaming armor and the cape was good. He looked damn sharp. People respected a man with a sword.

Crowley considered the conquest of Greece by Rome to be a _very good move._ Crowley loved Rome. Always at war, always arranging orgies, always shouting at each other in the senate. He had a feeling that this "republic" business wouldn't last forever though. It was only a matter of time until they went back to Kings (well, not "kings." The Romans were rather sensitive about their old kingdom days), or dictators, or Lords, or Pharaohs, or whatever they wanted to call the guy in charge. That's when the real fun would get started, Crowley was sure.

Crowley had slipped away from Sparta for a few weeks centuries earlier just so he could be around when Rome was founded. He could tell the little city was going big places. Remus and Romulus fighting to the death over who got to name the place? Well, if he had learned anything from the Old Testament days, it was that there's no better way to kickstart an enterprise than fratricide.

"I like your new look," Aziraphale noted.

"I see you're still going with the grubby genius ensemble," Crowley chuckled, looking Aziraphale over in his dusty, wrinkled toga and battered old sandals.

"Indeed. On my side of town for a bit of wiling?"Aziraphale asked. Crowley liked to spend his time up at the Senate and with the military. Aziraphale tended to stick to his temples. When they ran into each other, it tended to be totally coincidental.

"Well, I have to give you something to thwart," the demon leaned on the table next to him. Aziraphale chuckled at that. He and the demon had an odd kind of relationship. They weren't friends exactly. Angels and Demons simply weren't friends, but, well, Crowley had been around since the beginning. They'd always been on good terms. "And, I just thought you might like to know that I got two front row seats at the theatre tonight."

"How did you manage that, exactly?" Aziraphale asked skeptically. Crowley had a way of procuring items in ways that Aziraphale disapproved of. It often involved breaking at least three commandments.

"While you waste your time with philosophers, angel, I'm playing with the politicians," the demon said with the wave of a hand. "One of the Plebeian Tribunes got me tickets, but I'm rather sick of spending so much time around mortals," Crowley said in his laid back drawl. "Care to join me?"

"I...don't know about that, Crowley. I have so much work and..." he wasn't exactly supposed be to fraternizing with demons, he added mentally. Oh, but he did love the theatre. Seats right up at the front? He would be able to see the cracks in the paint on he actors masks! It was an experience not to be missed. Still...

"Come on, it's one of Livius Andronicus's plays. You like Livius don't you?" Crowley gave the angel a knowing look.

"Don't you tempt me serpent..." Aziraphale said weakly.

"I heard Livius might actually attend. I'm sure one of my Tribunes could introduce us." Crowley knew that would be the final straw.

"...ok. I'll go," Aziraphale said. He was a bad angel he knew but, oh, oh, if he could get Livius to sign a copy of the_Aiax Mastigophorus_ for him...how could he resist?

"Excellent!" Crowley said and held out his arm. His armor gleamed in the afternoon sun. Aziraphale suddenly understood why Eve was so willing to eat that silly apple. The demon had tempted him, and he had succumb. But there was nothing really sinful about going to the theatre. That didn't count as a temptation, did it?

"Let me treat you to lunch first. I know a great little place right off the Forum," Crowley offered.

"Only if you promise me no peacock eyes," Aziraphale said as he stuck out his tongue. He took Crowley's arm in his.

"Oh, you're no fun at all," Crowley laughed and led Aziraphale out into the rowdy, boisterous streets of Rome. A few people stopped and stared at the young Philosopher in his dirty toga, arm in arm with the Centurion, but Crowley was right about the sword earning respect, and besides, this was Rome. People had seen stranger things.

**London. 1596 CE **

_The world was older now. The Arrangement muddled along smoothly enough, and every day Crowley thanked who ever it was that Demons thanked that he was another day away fro the 14__th__ century. _

Crowley was not to pleased about the current fashion of the times. Frills! Frills on everything. Frills everywhere! Frills on his neck, on his wrists, at his waist. Even his frills had frills! True, the capes were nice, and at least he had boots now (and not ridiculous sandals), but...not his best look. It made him practically yearn for a toga.

There were days when Crowley missed Rome. He had so much fun there. He had been right about the Emperors. They were a lot of entertainment indeed, though upon reflection, the jokes about Caligula and his Horse may have gotten out of hand. It was a bit silly. And not every day was a walk in the park. Crowley had been lucky to be out of town when the Great Fire happened, because apparently Nero was having a really bad day.

Then there was Pliny (not an Emperor, but just as entertaining as one) always raving about Carthage. Must destroy Carthage. Must destroy Carthage. The man was obsessed. Hannibal showing up with all those Elephants had been rather alarming, sure, but a tad of an over reaction in Crowley's opinion. Crowley hated elephants as much as the next guy, but really.

Ok, so Crowley didn't miss Rome THAT much. Perhaps all those Emperors, Senators, and invading Carthaginians were a bit more trouble than they were worth. Besides, London was nice, aside from all the frills. London was the new center of the world. The Romans had first built it, but it quickly took on a life all of its own. (They had a rocky start though, Crowley remembered. That Boadicea woman was a nightmare.)

He saw the Angel more often these days, at least once every few months of so, to swap notes and go to a tavern for a quick pint. The Arrangement was a brilliant little idea they had, but it was mostly just for taking care of business. It didn't cover trips to the theatre, but Crowley knew how the angel was about the theatre, so why not take advantage of his mortal connections when they presented themselves?

"Now, what play is this, Crowley?" Aziraphale asked as they approached the theatre. Aziraphale's outfit had even more frills than Crowley's did. The demon hoped this fashion trend ebbed soon. It was not flattering for anyone. Still, the hat with the big feather in it was pretty cute on the Angel.

"Some new one. It's by Marlowe. Or Shakespeare. I dunno, one of those two. It's Romeo and Julia? Julie? Whatever," Crowley said with a small wave of his hand. Details didn't matter. "Some tragedy." Crowley had little eye for detail these days. The population of Europe was beginning to grow faster and faster, and as such he had become a Big Picture kind of person. No longer was tempting jus a single soul a day going to cut it. With this change in thinking had come other consequences, like not really caring if he was seeing Marlowe or Shakespeare.

"Romeo and Juliet, and it is Shakespeare," Aziraphale said, his eyes lighting up. "I saw the advertisements for it by the shop. Did you really get tickets to opening night?"

"Well, we wouldn't be on our way to the theatre if I didn't, would we?" Crowley sniggered.

"How though? More of your political connections, Crowley?" The angel was giving him a suspicious look.

"Stirring up and then quelling a minor political scandal involving a woman and some underage choir boys. Don't worry about it," Crowley said quickly. "It doesn't matter. You'll only disapprove and the evening will be spoiled. Come, do you want to be late?" Crowley took the angel's hand and began to pull him through the crowded streets of London, laughing as he did.

The truth was that Crowley enjoyed his time with the angel more than he should of. He was a demon, and prone to horrible fits of boredom. He wasn't bored around Aziraphale though.

"My dear, I-" Aziraphale tried to protest, but the theatre was coming into view and Aziraphale let out a little sigh. He smiled and let himself be pulled along by the manic, conniving demon.

**New York. 1927 CE**

_ America in the height of a party, drunk on the idea of the American dream, teeming with denial and optimism and fast cars. _

Cars. Yes, cars. Crowley loved them. So flash and fast and very much him. Crowley had vowed to never, in the name of...whoever, that he would never get on another horse as long as he lived. He had taken to the machines right off. They were useful and meant that he was free from the terror of mounted transportation. But then, just last week on his way back from Queens for a big of hellish-ness, he had walked past an imported car dealer and fell in love.

Crowley missed London, but he had big plans brewing in America and their new fangled "stock market" so he had moved to New York for a few years and had dragged the Angel along. Oh the Angel had complained, because the only way to get a decent glass of Port in America in the 1920s was to deal with the mafia these days, but they made due. (Though they both claimed innocence, both Crowley and Aziraphale blamed the other for Prohibition. In truth, it was one of those things that only a human mind could have come up with.)

So when he saw the most beautiful, glittering, British-made car, Crowley knew he had to buy it. He didn't even try to cheat the dealer. He bought it outright and legally, just so he could really call it his. A Bentley. Now THAT was a car that he could drive until the world ended and still be happy.

Crowley had been nervous to leave the Bentley with the valet, but Aziraphale had assured him that leaving the car with them would be safer than trying to find parking himself and 'please hurry up' or else they would miss the beginning of the show.

"But I was behind the entire idea of valet parking," Crowley protested after he had unhappily handed over his key to the valet. "How can I trust my car to a system that I invented? What if it-"

"Look, they just flickered the lights, Crowley! We have to take our seats. Come, come," the angel said, clearly not understanding the danger the Bentley was potentially in. Aziraphale was tapping his foot impatiently.

"Maybe I changed my mind," Crowley said, turning to watch the Bentley drive away as Aziraphale dragged him inside. "Maybe I don't want to see Show Boat!"

"But you bought the tickets!" Aziraphale argued. Once again Crowley had shown up at his place of residence, only this time in his car and a tuxedo, a smirk on his face and tickets to the theatre. Aziraphale wasn't even surprised anymore. But he would be...well...not _damned_, but...unhappy if he had gotten dressed up in a tuxedo just to go back home because Crowley had separation anxiety with his horseless carriage.

"They were a gift from Salvatore D'Aquila!" Crowley snapped back. He had never BOUGHT theatre tickets in his life. The only thing he had lawfully purchased in the last millennium was now being driven by some incompetent overworked underpaid teenager.

"You got tickets to SHOW BOAT from the MAFIA?" Aziraphale said incredulously.

"This is not a new trend, angel!" Crowley said, still feeling anxious. "And for the record, D'Aquila loves Show Boat."

Aziraphale gave up. "...Can we just get to our seats?"

"...My car better be ok," Crowley pouted.

"Of course dear. It will be fine." Aziraphale patted the demon's shoulder and steered him towards the usher to find their seats.

**The other time: Home. South Downs. 1998 CE.**

_The world had not ended. In fact it kept on spinning, and finally, on the suggestion of the Anti-Christ they had both decided to stop"mucking around" and had retired to a tiny little cottage in South Downs. _

Crowley was just about done in the garden for the day. Slowly but surely, Crowley was adjusting to life in the country. He hadn't lived anywhere but cities since he had left the Garden basically. It was nice to have a real proper garden again though. He ran his fingers over a quivering rose bush.

"You better behave now," he whispered menacing to the plant and proceeded to water it for the day. The garden was completely his. Aziraphale disliked the way Crowley treated he plants, but any time the angel tried to grow something on his own, the poor plant died of apathy. Aziraphale had begrudgingly allowed Crowley free reign over the plants because at least a terrified garden was better than a dead one.

Crowley was really enjoying the 90s. Sure they had started off a little rough around the edges what with the world ending and all, but he had high hopes for the internet business, and it seemed that that lovely sax playing President over in America was going to be VERY entertaining.

The sun was just beginning to set when Crowley walked back into the cottage and set his watering can on the table. Aziraphale was in the living room, lost in some book apparently. _Oh...bugger...its like we're married..._ Crowley thought absently. He thought that at least once a day since he and the angel had moved in together.

Not that Crowley regretted moving in together. That wasn't it at all. In fact it had been Crowley's idea (a fresh start, less temptations to muck around with people, and it was worth it all to see the angel smile that brightly). It was just that...well they did seem very married now, and though he couldn't imagine a life without the angel near by, it was still a somewhat strange thought.

The problem was that they had become far too domestic these days, Crowley had decided. Every day was the same thing. Aziraphale read his books and tried to write his novels while Crowley cooked and tended the garden and watched bad TV, and then they went to bed (they had separate bedrooms at least, Crowley thought. Though it was more common for the angel to fall asleep on his type writer than in his bed) and started the whole thing over again the next day.

They needed to shake things up now and end. "Hey, angel," Crowley said walking over and leaning on the chair Aziraphale was sitting it. "How about we go out to the theatre? Or just rent a movie? Anything but more TV and book reading."

"On such short notice? How would you even get tickets?" Aziraphale asked and then caught that look Crowley was giving him. "Ok, dumb question. Politicians of course." He placed the book aside. "...let's rent a movie."

"Don't want to get dressed up?" Crowley chuckled looking the angel over in his tartan robe and matching tartan slipper get up.

"Or deal with your driving tonight," Aziraphale teased.

"Fine, fine. I'll run out to the shop and get one. Do you think you can handle making popcorn?" Crowley asked, but then caught the look Aziraphale gave him, "Ah, dumb question. I'll pick up some microwave popcorn while I'm out."

They had learned centuries ago that Aziraphale simply could not cook. Anything more complicated than tea often left a horrible mess and nothing edible in sight. They had agreed that along with the garden, Crowley had control of the kitchen. As long as Crowley didn't trying to serve anything small and breathing for dinner it worked out fine.

That was how the two of them ended up on the sofa, sharing an only slightly burned bag of popcorn and watching Toy Story. About the time that the little douche bag cowboy toy and his delusional space boyfriend toy were going to get blown up by that unstable charming boy next door, Aziraphale laid his head on Crowley's shoulder and gave a small sleepy noise.

So maybe this lacked the glamour and elegance of going to the theatre, and maybe it only proved his point about feeling married, but Crowley couldn't remember being happier.


End file.
